


Dribs & Drabbles 3

by MarigoldVance



Series: Dribs & Drabbles [4]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: (ADDITIONAL TAGS IN CHAPTER SUMMARIES), M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:02:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27384649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarigoldVance/pseuds/MarigoldVance
Summary: my contributions to GatheringFiKi challenges as well as prompt fills and sample-size ficlets that need a home. [PART THREE]please heed the tags[pairings/ratings/additional tags are listed in each chapter summary]
Relationships: Fíli/Kíli (Tolkien)
Series: Dribs & Drabbles [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2000407
Kudos: 6





	1. Romance is an Old Dam's Tale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FíKí, Gen
> 
> AU- Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Erebor Reclaimed, Quirks, Matters of Love, (after the honeymoon ends)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for [PeneighDzredfohl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeneighDzredfohl/gifts)
> 
> written for WinterFRE2020 for the prompt:
> 
> _163\. The “honeymoon” is over. One has habits that are annoying to the other. Write about it and make it funny._
> 
> i hope i made it funny, prompter! XD

≡

As brothers, their love for each other was welded differently. If they needed space from one another they took it without discussion; without concern or consideration of how the other would respond because they _knew_ the love between them was unconditional. Durable. Eternal.

Fíli and Kíli’s souls were intertwined in constellations. Their destiny of togetherness was indisputable. When Fíli’s dwarfling-hand brushed Kíli’s newborn-face, Fíli recognized the signs cast by Mahal that he’d touched his _Knurlnien_. As time grew them, neither acted on their suspicions, too hesitant to disrupt what they already had and knew for certain couldn’t be tarnished.

Battle, however, changes the order of the soul’s priorities …

In the beginning, as soon as Erebor settled into routine and convention, there were notes. Endearments scrawled on scraps of parchment in curly-tight script, swapped in secret: _Your love has changed the world I thought I knew so well_ – _Every hour is made easier knowing that tonight I will see myself in your eyes – Your smiles are a collection of wonder my soul covets always_.

There was laughter and passion and a silly giddiness in something as virtuous as hand holding. The newness of the physical developments in their relationship was as sensational as it was comfortable. Their first kiss was unparalleled. Their first night tentatively exploring each other beneath their clothes was heady and ferocious and as hot as liquid fire. Their announcement was terrifying, but neither was willing to lose what they nurtured in each other for any law or doctrine (and Ori found plenty in the archives).

By the grace of the Gods, they had nothing to fear for their people accepted them and their family supported them (Thorin was too battle-weary and their mother was too smug, as if she’d known all along, to rouse any negativity toward love and who it concerns itself with).

As their bond matures, the thrum of commitment Fíli and Kíli have as lovers is louder and more prevalent than it was as brothers. There are questionmarks punctuating thoughts and actions whereas before, they simply did as they pleased and expected the other to be there because the other _**would** _be there. This undercurrent of fragility is what marks the difference between brotherly and romantic affections.

And, as it is when affection is involved, the fantasy eventually mellows, gets stripped away by truth. Reality roots itself in the cracks revealed in a foundation built by assumption and desire. Challenges arise, both individual and shared, and there is only one remedy. Yet, for those who have never needed to doctor _love_ before, that remedy seems like the most dreadful of options.

Hence, instead, Fíli and Kíli struggle …

≈

Fíli snores. Not those sweet kitten rumbles that speak of cozy blanket-nests and naps in front of the fire. Of course not. Fíli snores like stone grinding against stone reverberating off the walls in the massive halls of Moria. Like thunder rolling in Kíli’s ear after a long day of listening to the Ambassadors of the dwarves of Rhûn bicker about territory. Fíli snores like a vendetta.

Kíli smooshes his pillow over his ears, staring sightlessly at the ceiling through tired eyes. He’s tried all manner of things: Soft earplugs, hard earplugs, thick earmuffs, cording several cushions to his head. He’s doomed to insomnia unless he finally takes the plunge and sleeps alone in his old bedchamber which, not a chance, he’ll have you know. It feels _wrong_ somehow. Selfish. Unromantic and lonely and backward when Fíli is available to cuddle.

He doesn’t recall Fíli’s snoring being this unbearable when they started sharing a bed several months ago. Kíli would nestle, serene, into Fíli’s chest and drift on the sound of Fíli’s heartbeat under his ear. Fíli’s hands would stroke Kíli into a pleasant doze and they would lay in an embrace as proper couples in love do.

And then, quite out of nowhere, about two weeks prior, Fíli’s nose and throat banded together in some drawn out assassination attempt. Hired, indisputably, by the Blacklocks who hadn’t been satisfied with Kíli’s remark about splitting the territory evenly with the Stonefoots. It was his mother’s suggestion! He was merely the one to deliver it to Council! Why punish him for _her_ thoughts!?

Kíli is exhausted. His bones weigh more than Smaug’s; he finds himself snapping at people and objects who don’t deserve to be the outlet of his crankiness. He slugs himself through the tunnels of Erebor on trawled feet and he’s been either rushing through his duties or slacking.

Thankfully, it isn’t every day. Fíli is kept late on three out of seven evenings in appointments with their uncle. They agreed that Kíli would sleep in his old bedchamber on those nights so Fíli could avoid the guilt of waking Kíli upon his return.

An immense regret filters through Kíli whenever he catches himself counting down the hours to those blessed nights apart. He loves Fíli but, _Mahal_ , he can’t handle the state of himself after two consecutive days spent beside him after they settle under the blankets for sleep.

**_chrrr – pchiii chrrr – pchiii chrrr_** – Kíli squeezes his eyes shut and presses his pillow into his ears so hard it seems impossible that the fabric and down filling hasn’t fused with flesh and bone.

Let it be noted that Kíli has (and always will) talked himself down from the critical point of wanting to _shove his pillow. down Fíli’s throat._ He teeters at that precipice in recent nights but would never dare do it. It took too many years of yearning and heartache for him to share a bed with Fíli without having to feign night terrors and he wouldn’t risk hurting Fíli with his frustrations.

Kíli will adjust. He will find a way to manage this. 

Because. Love and all that garbage.

≈

Kíli babbles. Spouts like a faucet, all his words tumbling over Fíli before he’s had a good cup of Khandian coffee. Unlike Fíli, who treasures his sleep, Kíli wakes early and spends time with himself, bathing and preparing for the day ahead. Fíli trundles out sometime later, bleary eyed and half aware of where he’s going.

He joins Kíli at the small table under the window, set up impeccably every morning with a hardy cornucopia of breakfast foods. That’s usually his first mistake. As soon as his arse meets the seat, Kíli brays as if he’s been alone for years instead of hours. He talks about nothing and everything and _one-more-thing_ : “— _and I thought Uncle would be pleased since he does love his cider, but I suppose I got it wrong. And now Thranduil’s man is threatening action which wasn’t my fault, but Uncle continues to mishear and twists the events against me!_ ”

Fíli stares ahead, registering barely a third of what Kíli is prattling about. He nods when he thinks it appropriate and adds a hum here and there, mindlessly nibbling on whatever his hand reaches for.

Fíli used to cherish the sound of Kíli’s voice. It meant his brother is _there_ ; is alive and whole and perfect in Fíli’s arms. Nowadays, Fíli isn’t exactly sure how to broach the subject because he _cannot_ take another morning having to pretend to enjoy Kíli’s unrequited, hummingbird diatribe.

Before they were lovers, there was a necessary and appreciated distance between them. An ebb and flow of unconscious consideration. They each had time to greet the day in their own ways, in the sanctity of their separate rooms, without one bursting in to disrupt the other. It isn’t that Fíli _misses_ those days (he does, he really, really does. Those days were glorious and now they’re gone); it’s simply that he can’t imagine Kíli _not_ being hurt if Fíli were to confess that he’d rather do his waking up in peace.

Granted, there are a few mornings when Kíli is quiet, yes, but it seems they’re not the mornings Fíli requires extra time to slog through the early hours. The mornings following an evening-turned-late-night spent listening to his uncle’s lecturing.

Fíli can’t control the annoyed twitch of his eye or his faraway face or the plans his mind conjures to shove the dish of meat tart in Kíli’s mouth just to cork his waterfall of stories.

Mahal help him.

≈

Their mother’s advice has always been welcomed. She is wise and kind and understands Fíli and Kíli better than anyone else in Arda. She is who they’ve turned to for help in every situation that cannot be met with hammer and axe. Situations that require _finesse_.

Neither is pleased, then, when their mother suggests the unthinkable; does so while smirking into her tea on the two occasions her sons meet with her. Kíli first and then Fíli.

She assures them both that what she offers them is as harmless as it is incredibly important. No relationship can survive without it, she warns them. It encapsulates honesty and trust and love and everything necessary to strengthen the _Knurlnien_ bond.

_Open communication_.

Despite their individual looks of nervousness, there is a determination outlined by a desire to forge their connection stronger. And if what their mother says is true, they will do what it takes to make the other happy through addressing their own, personal happiness.

Who knew love was more than the wish to be everything for someone else? Kíli certainly didn’t realize that it involves so much more _self_. And Fíli, well, he forgot himself completely as he put Kíli’s needs before everything.

Still, their naivety is sweet and their mother chuckles, of the belief that everything will work out in their favor as it does for those who are truly meant to be.

≈

“Sometimes,” Kíli begins, on his back in their bed with his eyes on the ceiling again. “I can’t stand the way you breathe.”

“I’ve actively tried to avoid you in the morning because you talk too much.” Fíli responds, voice resigned.

Kíli turns his head to face Fíli where Fíli is laying beside him. “I’ve plugged your nose twice now and, somehow, that made things worse.”

Fíli shifts onto his side and gazes at Kíli, “I take an hour in the garderobe because I want the time to myself to read without possible distraction.”

“I get up earlier than I would on the mornings after we share a bed because, if I don’t, I’m afraid I might smother you with a pillow.”

“I’ve dreamed of shoving my socks down your throat.”

They’re silent for a moment, letting each other’s words sink in. After a few beats, they both start to shake and then snort and then laugh wildly, grabbing each other’s arms and waists as they find the humor in their confessions.

“I love you so much, Fee. I didn’t want to offend you by leaving your side in the middle of the night!”

Fíli smiles warmly, “I understand, Kee, but your happiness and wellbeing are more important to me than anything else. As is your sanity and, in turn, mine.”

“I swear to keep my thoughts to myself until you give me a sign.” Kíli grins, twining the fingers of one hand through Fíli’s, bringing Fíli’s hand up to hold the back of it to his lips. “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything sooner.”

“As am I.”

Fíli rises onto an elbow and admires Kíli from above, taking the hand Kíli held to cup Kíli’s jaw. He leans down to place a gentle promise on Kíli’s lips – that he will never again hoard his frustrations. Kíli agrees by wrapping his arms around Fíli’s neck and pulling him down atop him, licking into Fíli’s mouth.

They make promises all night, vocal and open, until they’re too tired to continue. Kíli snuggles into Fíli’s back and, when Fíli’s snoring begins, he places a kiss on Fíli’s shoulder and removes himself, quietly retreating to his bedchamber for a night of sound sleep. He feels more satisfied than he thought possible as he revels in a lesson learned.

Love is a great deal more than heartsong and poetry. It is challenging and awkward and annoying and blunt. It is working together through tempers and sadness and fear. Acknowledging another’s lifetime of habits and working _with_ them rather than _against_ them.

And, in Fíli and Kíli's case, that involves kisses and cocks and retiring to separate beds.

≡

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there is, honest to God, coffee in Middle-earth. it is a thing that exists. once imported by Gondor from Haradwaith and Khand.
> 
> this is information i have now. i know this and will never un-know it. coffee is a thing that Middle-earth does.
> 
> **Knurlnien** : "heart of stone" - which, since they're dwarves, i took to mean something romantic and not cruel. in this case, referring to their One who is the second half of the stone they're carved from. it's convoluted but it works for me XD


	2. Understand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fíli & Kíli, Gen
> 
> kid!Fee, kid!Kee, Brotherly Love, past character death (father)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for WinterFRE2020 for the prompt:
> 
> _84\. Kid fic (either them being kids ~~or them adopting/having a kid~~ )_
> 
> _**AND** _
> 
> __159\. “Is it okay if I lean on you?”_ _

≡

They’d been inseparable since Kíli found his feet and toddled about without hands for balance. They adventured in the woods behind their house, beyond the back fence that served to ease their mother’s fretting but confined them to games Fíli decided he’d outgrown.

With Fíli’s help, Kíli learned how to dive and catch and wrestle. Fíli taught him new words and how things worked and warned Kíli about the monster who lived in the cave by the stream and the faeries who snatched little boys if they wandered too far from their big brothers. Kíli never stepped out of Fíli’s sight, not even as a joke.

Now Fíli is twelve and Kíli seven and Kíli won’t leave him alone! Somewhere between last month and this one, Fíli began to feel sour when he thought of running around, reckless and wild. Like an apple about to go bad. He doesn’t want to rot brown and unpleasant and he finds keeping to himself a comfortable way to avoid it. Thinking too hard makes it worse and, sequestered alone, he can control where his mind rambles.

Why can’t Kíli understand that?

Lately, since— _recently_ , Fíli’s trapped by his brother’s pestering; Kíli’s whining ropes around his nerves, pulling tighter and tighter as Kíli urges Fíli to pretend all his stupid child-imaginings like they used to because, _Fee, you never wan’a spend time with me no more!_

No, Fíli doesn’t.

But Kíli isn’t special. Fíli isn’t particularly keen in carnivaling around with anyone who wants to act as if the whole world hasn’t _changed_. It’s all so stupid and immature and Fíli’s ready to grow up. If Kíli can’t appreciate that then Fíli supposes he’ll just have to ignore his brother until he does.

Fíli grouches and determinedly stares at his book, the same line repeating over and over until Kíli climbs on the bed and shakes Fíli by the shoulder.

“I said no!” Fíli yells, pushing Kíli away.

Kíli teeters, his little body swaying on unsteady knees; he doesn’t catch himself and tumbles over the side of the bed, landing in a pitiful heap on the stone floor. Fíli’s eyes go wide. He feels the blood drain from his face and the guilt fetch up in his throat.

He throws his book down and scrambles off the bed but it’s too late. Kíli is shrieking – blotchy red face and big, wet tears – cradling his elbow where it struck the floor under his weight.

Their mother rushes in from the kitchen, her skirts rustling in her haste. She barely glances at Fíli, sweeps Kíli up in her skinny arms and begins to shush him against her shoulder. She looks tired, black smudges under her eyes like bruises and, for some reason, that makes Fíli feel worse.

Once Kíli is calm, her gaze drops to Fíli who is still crouched on the floor. He knows, as she opens her mouth, that she’s going to blame him. He can sense it in the strike of prickling fire that rushes up his spine.

Clenching his fists, Fíli leaps up and shouts, “It wasn’t me!” before hurtling out of the room and down the hall toward the door to the back garden. The door slams against the wall from the force he uses to open it, cracking the sound of his anger through the house for his mother to hear.

He runs, not very far, only a little way past the fence, and drops to his knees, huffing and panting and desperate to scream his frustration into the depths of the forest.

_Kíli should’ve listened!_

Fíli doesn’t want to hurt his brother, he loves Kíli, but he also wants to be left to himself and Kíli won’t stop being impatiently pushy and mewly, weeping at Fíli’s ankles to make Fíli feel bad. It hasn’t been that long since Fíli’s given in … has it?

Fíli concentrates and thinks and tries to remember. The days are all blurry, one into the other; loops and purls and whole scarves made of all the days that resemble one another in Fíli’s mind.

He sits on the ground in the grass, lets the cold seep into him as he tucks his knees under his chin, wraps his arms around them and rests his head in the cradle they make. Minutes, maybe hours, go by and the world in the woods changes its tune.

Fíli doesn’t want Kíli to go away _forever_. He never could. Not even if Kíli broke all his bones like he did their mother’s figurines the day after _It_ happened in a tantrum. Unlike Kíli, Fíli can’t simply get up and be fine every morning. And Fíli kind of hates Kíli for being able to. Hates that Kíli still smiles and plays and lisps through a whistle. That Kíli _carries on_.

Fíli misses their father too much to forget it. An enormous knot lives inside him now and he can’t untangle it.

He sniffs and his shoulders shake.

A moment after, Fíli feels a presence amble up behind him. Kíli, he recognizes from the soft, careful footfalls. Without a word, Kíli plops down at Fíli’s side and sits close enough that his heat causes the stiffness in Fíli’s arm and leg to abate slightly.

“Is it—” Kíli pauses and smacks his lips as he gathers his words again. “Is it okay if I lean on you?”

Fíli nods into his arms.

Kíli wraps himself around Fíli, rests his chubby cheek against Fíli’s curled back, and envelops Fíli in as much of a hug as he’s able for his size. They settle into silence, listening to the crickets sing and the trees creak, breathe in the smell of their mother’s stew wafting from the chimney, into the air.

“It’s okay, Fee, I’ll wait ‘til you’re happy again.”

And it’s said with such conviction, Fíli lurches out of the ball he’s become and shifts quickly, banding his arms around Kíli’s little waist and burying his head in Kíli’s stomach. Every angry, mournful thing he’s had soaking within him spews to the surface and out of him through a flow of tears that soak a pool into Kíli’s shirt. Kíli’s hands stroke nonsense patterns across Fíli’s shoulders and down as much of his back as Kíli can reach. His stubby fingers rake through Fíli’s hair, tugging more than combing. Fíli can’t be bothered to complain.

Fíli snuffles, “And what if can’t ever be happy again?”

“Then I’ll help you.” Kíli says with the type of resolve only a seven-year-old can muster.

∞

After their mother gives them their kisses and tucks them into bed, snuffs out the candles and wishes them good dreams; when Fíli drifts below the surface, no longer so aware of the ache that rests heavy in his heart, he feels his father’s firm kiss on his brow.

He falls into the first sound sleep he’s had since their father passed before he can hear Kíli’s feet pad back to his own bed.

≡

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written to the song [Iris covered by Megan Bonnell](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_41xPI27UaY)


End file.
